


If The Shoe Fits

by beckzorz (heckofabecca)



Series: looks to die for [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Established Relationship, F/M, Mentions of Child Pornography, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Porn With Plot, assassin reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 15:59:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19479229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckofabecca/pseuds/beckzorz
Summary: An assassination at the Jelly Belly factory goes haywire when SHIELD arrives on the scene.





	If The Shoe Fits

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr for a challenge. My prompt was, "'You love me?'"

A portrait of Captain America. Two portraits, really, since there’s one of Steve Rogers and another of Sam Wilson.

“Huh,” you say.

The little boy gaping beside you nods enthusiastically before his attention is drawn elsewhere. You can’t quite blame him. Captain America—either or both—are fascinating, but there’s a lot going on here. Portraits line the walls. Two versions of Marilyn Monroe, one of Harry Potter, a wall of animals. There’s three whole portraits of Ronald Reagan, of all people. You can’t think why.

Not exactly what you were expecting from the Jelly Belly Bean Art Gallery.

The animals, yes. Past presidents? Not so much.

Still, it’s a far cry from your last job. Even with the absurd college student getup you’ve got on, an air conditioned factory beats the jungle any day.

You trace the sharp line of Steve Rogers’ jaw with your eyes, then step sideways to inspect Sam Wilson. Two beacons of justice, and you’ve only got two questions in mind.

One: what would they think of _you?_

And two: why doesn’t Bucky Barnes get a Jelly Belly portrait?

You’ve half a mind to march up to the tour guide to demand an answer to question two—he’s not likely to have an answer to question one, is he?—but a ping in your ear diverts your attention.

“Time to go,” comes Kasie’s voice.

Your lips curve into a little smile as you saunter to the tour guide. “Nature calls,” you murmur, and Kasie snorts in your ear. The tour guide turns to you with a helpful smile as you reach his side. “Excuse me, where’s the bathroom?”

—

On your way down the hall to the bathroom, you pass a tall blond man wheeling a janitor’s cart. A slight smile and a tilt of his head is all the acknowledgement he gives you.

Apart from the two of you, the hall is abandoned.

As soon as you pass him, you veer to the side, following his head tilt, and burst through a set of doors marked _PRIVATE_. The neutral look on your face morphs into a dark smirk.

Time to get to work.

—

Twenty-four minutes later, you’re sitting at a desk with your feet propped up. Under the desk, the curled-up corpse of the man whose name graces the office door. The computer is running a program from a thumb drive you’d hidden in your bra. An effective weapon, a thumb drive. Jab it into someone’s eye, they scream. Jab it into a computer port, and with the right coding…

Well, there’s money moving in your direction. Payment for a job well done, on top of your cut for the heart attack you’ve just induced. And a little bit more.

With gloved hands, you pick up a paperweight shaped like a clump of jelly beans.

“Y’know,” you say into the open air, “it’s strange getting paid to murder someone involved in making candy. Candy makes children happy.”

“Well, this guy was doing plenty to make children _un_ happy,” Kasie says.

“Oh, sure. No doubt about it.” Your lip curls distastefully. It had been all too easy to find his stash of child pornography. On his work computer, no less. Your stomach had damn near curdled at the endless scroll of files. You hadn’t opened any, but dear lord, even the file names and preview images had been more than you could stomach. And the job brief hadn’t said anything about exposing the bastard, but if he happened to be discovered dead in his office from a heart attack with that folder easily accessible…

Well, you won’t complain. Maybe it’ll help the police catch a few more perverts. Assuming the company doesn’t just hush the whole thing up, but a hint dropped in the right ears will go a long way if it comes to that.

The right ears. Your face softens and your stomach settles. All the sugar from the tasting rooms and the nausea from finding that obscene stash fades as you think of the right ears, and the head between them.

Bucky. A good, nice head on good, nice shoulders on a good, nice body… Thinking about him while you’re waiting for the program to finish running is an excellent distraction. Better than thinking about the horrible things the man at your feet had gotten up to during his lifetime.

“Oh _fuck_.”

Your head perks up. Kasie’s voice is strangled.

“What?” you blurt.

“SHIELD is here,” Kasie hisses.

“Why are you whispering?” you snap. You stand up, hands curled around the edge of the desk as you try and steady your racing heart. Your eyes dart around the office, but it’s empty. Just you, and a corpse at your feet. “This channel is _secure_.”

“Fuck you. Get the hell out of there. _Now_.”

“No way!” You slap the desk. Your hands tremble, and you clutch the desk again. “I’m almost done. If I can get all the shit on this guy—”

“It’s too risky!” Kasie exclaims. “I am _not_ letting you get caught in SHIELD’s crossfires again, you hear?”

“SHIELD can suck my dick,” you snap. “I’m not giving up on this. Whoever this guy was getting his shit from deserves exactly what I just gave him.”

Faint popping through your earpiece. You freeze.

“Luka?”

Silence.

“Luka, what’s your status?” Kasie says, voice barely steady.

More radio silence. Bated breath as you wait for the third in your trio to respond.

A klaxon wails.

“ _Fuck_ ,” you say.

“Evacuation,” Luka breathes, just loud enough for you to hear under the alarms. Relief floods through you until he speaks again. “Guns.”

“Okay that’s it,” Kasie announces. “I’m calling this off. That’s an order.”

“Just two more minutes,” you beg. Your knuckles, curled so tightly around the edge of the desk, are white under the plastic gloves as you stare at the download bar for your thumb drive. You’re so close. The drive is almost done, and then you can deliver the wrath of god. SHIELD has nothing on you. You survived the last time, that night you met Bucky Barnes through a rifle scope. This can’t possibly go any worse.

Kasie doesn’t answer. 

Well, silence from her is close enough to a yes for you. You sink back into the chair, limbs stiff. The alarm is still wailing. Your foot knocks against the body under the desk.

Two minutes? Enough time to rearrange your victim into a plausible slump in his chair. You grunt as you tug him into the open air. You wipe your brow with the back of your wrist before hefting him into his chair by his lapels. There’s nothing worse than deadweight, but then again, that’s just part of the job. A few artful rearrangements of his stiff limbs, and you’re satisfied.

Running footsteps echo in the hallway, louder than the alarm.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

You duck behind the desk, hand hovering right by the thumb drive, and wait until a key scrapes in the lock before pulling it free. The computer beeps unhappily. You tuck the thumb drive in your bra and fold yourself under the desk.

The door unlocks, opens. Two steps, and then a low _fuck_ before the door slams shut.

The man rushes to the desk and the dead man in his chair.

“John? John, you bastard!”

_Slap._

Your eyes widen. Hitting a corpse? That’s a bit much, even for you.

“Wake up, you good-for-nothing—”

The stranger is nearly choked up. You can just make out the shadow of his shoes as he shakes the dead man by his lapels. So much for your two minutes.

“Shit.”

The stranger gives up. He nudges the chair over and bends over the keyboard, typing at a rapid fire pace. Then he sucks in a harsh breath. “Oh you _bastard_ …”

Well, he must’ve found the child porn.

“Bribery wasn’t enough for you, huh?” the man mutters. “You sick fuck.” He’s typing again. Your legs are starting to cramp. You’re used to lying flat on rooftops, not stuffing yourself in tiny spaces.

Wait—was that the trash can noise? Is he _deleting evidence?_

Well that won’t do.

A harsh shove of your foot sends the dead man’s chair careening back into the wall. The typing stops, the stranger drops to one knee, and you barrel into him, arms fastening fast around his neck as you catch him in a chokehold.

“Wha—”

His voice cuts off, his fingers digging painfully tight into your arms as you squeeze the breath out of him. You grit your teeth against his struggles, your tailbone bruising against the floor as he flails his legs. You’re not trying to kill him, just to render—him— _unconscious_.

One of his hands drops from your arm, reaches into his pocket. Your eyes widen as his thumb swipes. The dial tone.

“Shit,” you mutter. You aim your leg, kick at his hand until he groans, but it’s too late. Someone’s picked up.

“Hello? Rick?”

Rick gasps just loud enough. You tighten your elbow around his neck, his eyes bug out, but he manages it.

“John’s—office—”

Then Rick slumps, finally unconscious.

“Rick? Rick?!”

You wriggle out from under Rick’s prone body and dig his phone out of his pocket. A single click, and his phone’s off. You pat Rick down, but he’s got zero weapons.

“What is it with these people? Why do none of them carry guns?” you grumble.

“It’s because they have armed security,” Luka grumbles in your ear.

“Luka!” You pop to your feet with a delighted grin. The edge of the thumb drive digs into your chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be inside in a few minutes to get you,” he says.

Tension melts out of you. “Luka, you sweetheart.” He might look gentle, but Luka’s one of the fiercest close-combat fighters you know. If he can get to you, you’ll both get out safe.

Still, no point in wandering around as unarmed as you are now. You scan the room, desperate for any kind of weapon. Your phone is tucked in the pocket of your leggings, but you’ve still got one pocket free. A pen jar… Aha, there. A letter opener.

“Head to the warehouse,” Kasie says. Her voice is grainy. “Damn, SHIELD’s interfering with my signal. Luka, meet hsss _ssssssss_ —”

Kasie’s comm cuts out, but you got the memo.

You heft the letter opener in hand and stalk to the door. One quick breath, a listen for any sounds under the alarm, and you slip into the empty hallway at a light jog. Red lights whir overhead. Distant popping filters through your earpiece, and then comes Luka’s voice.

“See you soon,” he whispers.

A click, and all you can hear is the alarm.

—

Eleven minutes later, Doc Martens slamming on the concrete as you race through a giant warehouse, you’re regretting those extra two minutes.

“Y’know,” you pant, “whoever thought these shoes were a good idea has _clearly_ never had to run in them.”

A gunshot rings out behind you just as you skid around a corner. You don’t look back. The armed security that Rick had summoned had caught up two minutes back, and it’s been a race to the finish. Plus, somewhere SHIELD is lurking, waiting…

Another gunshot. The bullet whizzes so close you can feel its wake. You can hear them behind you yelling at you, yelling about SHIELD on its way—

“Shit shit shit!”

Another corner looms ahead; you take it.

Still running, you pull a pin out of your hair. It’s not a comm device, it’s not a thumb drive, it’s not a bug. It’s a gift from Kasie, the very one who warned you about all this Avengers and SHIELD nonsense from the start.

You hurl yourself between two stacks of boxes before anyone turns down your aisle.

“How long?” you whisper.

“Forty seconds,” Luka answers.

Running footsteps pound close, voices echo closer, and you wince.

“Too long,” you say. “Scram, Luka!”

“Wait—”

You twist the hairpin, lean to the side, and throw it into the aisle. Then you curl into a ball and cover your head with your hands.

A heavy moment, still and quiet save for the slowed footsteps and a confused _huh_. One single scuff of a shoe as someone bends to look. You suck in one last breath.

An explosion rocks the warehouse. Sound and heat wash over you as the boxes at your back shudder. There’s an overwhelming urge to look, to peek, but you stay curled up, head protected, as the boxes over your head slide and start to fall. The edge of one pokes into your back, hard and painful against your spine, but at this point you _can’t_ move. The crackle of flames is loud in your ears. The sickly smell of burnt sugar tickles your nose, and you cough. Smoke catches in your throat. You gag, eyes still squeezed shut. You breathe straight into the arm of your sweatshirt, shimmying your hands out of the burning plastic gloves and tossing them aside.

At least the running has stopped. All you can hear is a faint ringing, the alarm and something else. No one’s following you anymore, not that you can—

The box at your back flies away. Your eyes pop open and instantly swell with tears from the smoke. Before you can even move, hands are on you, pulling you up, out. Your eyes are burning, so much that you can’t see. Your assailant tugs you against their chest, holding you too tight to escape. You shout, kick, and then you realize that one of the hands on you is metal.

You still. Try and blink the smoke out of your eyes. A black uniform, straps, holsters…

“ _Bucky?_ ”

“Next time,” Bucky growls, “ _wait_.”

—

You blink the tears from your eyes, grasping weakly at Bucky’s shoulder as he hurries through the smoke. All you can hear is a faint ringing. You hadn’t expected the hairpin bomb to be so _loud._ Nor so… successful. So destructive?

Bombs aren’t your style. Never have been. But at that kind of disadvantage…

You couldn’t risk it. The data you’ve got—your own _life_ —

Bucky shoves an emergency exit open. The alarm’s already ringing, at least. Smoke billows out over your head as you stumble outside, gasping in the sweet fresh air, clearing your lungs of burnt jellybeans and smoke and fire. You lean heavily against the concrete wall, head tipped back and eyes closed as you catch your breath.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Bucky hisses.

You open your eyes slowly, still breathing heavily. Your vision is still blurry, and it’s hard to make his expression out right away. “Just that I wanted to not get shot.”

Bucky glares at you. You blink, confused. It’s not like he hasn’t had to make spur-of-the-moment choices.

“I didn’t have a gun, and I can’t run as fast as you. What else was I supposed to do?”

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here!”

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here, either.” You close your eyes again. You hadn’t breathed in that much smoke, but after that sprint through the warehouse, it was enough to drain you. Anyway, Bucky’s seen you turn into a puddle before. Hell, he’s _made_ you turn into a puddle before. You bat those thoughts away and force your eyes back open. “If I’d known there were SHIELD shenanigans going on, maybe I _would_ have brought a gun.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Why the hell _didn’t_ you? How can you just walk in somewhere that dangerous so fucking unprepared—”

“Not all of us can flash a shiny badge to get through security, Bucky.” You gesture at yourself, at your smoking sweatshirt and the Doc Martens and the leggings. His scowl doesn’t fade, and you frown at him. “Why are you so damn pissed?”

“You should’ve known better.”

“Somehow I managed just fine in worse scrapes than this before you came along.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I wasn’t dealing with so much shit before I met you! No one was impersonating me, no one was blowing my cover to SHIELD, no one was making my jobs impossible—”

“Well I’m not giving up my job,” Bucky says flatly. “I _can’t._ ”

You purse your lips. “Neither can I, Bucky.”

He raises an eyebrow. You scrub a hand down your face.

“I know no non-extradition treaties rely on me keeping my job. But it’s real fucking hard to walk away from what I do. You know that.”

“Have you ever even tried?”

“I don’t want to try. And I shouldn’t have to. You’ve never had a problem with what I do before. Why now?”

“Why now?!” He gapes. “Are you tucking kidding me? You almost got killed by your own damn bomb!”

“I had a plan,” you say. “It’s not my fault you ruined it.” You toss your head vaguely in the direction of where Kasie and Luke had been—hopefully where they _had_ been, because now Bucky’s looking that way, his eyes narrowed. If they’re caught—

But you know them. Kasie and Luka are professionals. They’re long gone.

At any rate, Bucky’s expression shifts. He tilts his head just barely to the side, eyes darting between you and the distance, and then finally his face softens. _Finally._

“Of course,” he murmurs. He shakes his head and tugs you into his arms. His lips press against your temple, and you sigh, all your annoyance fading away. “I’m sorry. I just—fuck, angel, I’m sorry. I should’ve known better.”

“Yes,” you tell him. You wind your arms around his waist and squeeze tight. A comfortable silence for a few moments, but you can’t help but add, “For the record, I don’t mind being rescued by you. Even if I didn’t need it.”

His chest rumbles as he chuckles, but there’s a hint of melancholy to it. “Just wish I’d gotten to you sooner.” He steps back, looks you over. His lips twitch.

“What?” You look down, raise an eyebrow. “Something funny?”

“No, no,” Bucky says quickly. He gestures to your outfit. “I’m not used to seeing you dressed, uh, like this.”

You look down. Patterned leggings, a cropped blue sweatshirt, scuffed Doc Martens… All of it a little scorched at this point. You bite your tongue. You’re not sure if you look more like a broke college student or a gentrified hipster.

“Well, you’ve seen me in worse,” you tell him, adjusting the sweater so the wide neck bares most of a shoulder.

Bucky winces. “I’m not sure about that.”

“What, you don’t prefer this over that plain dress getup I had?” You wiggle your foot in the air. “Look! Legs!”

“Well,” he says, “at least _then_ I knew exactly what you had on underneath.” He winks, and you can’t help but laugh.

“No hiding any thigh holsters under these leggings, that’s for sure.”

Bucky cups his hand around the back of your neck and draws you in, his smile the last thing you see before your eyes slide shut and his lips meet yours.

It’s heaven to kiss him. Always has been. Rough and needy like the first time, brief and desperate, or even like now, soft and sweet and smiling, his hand warm on your neck as his other catches your fingers and squeezes them tight.

Bucky kisses you like he’s trying to charm away all your worries, and you let him.

A woman clears her throat, and Bucky pulls back, his face all apology as you gape, gaze flitting between Bucky and a thoroughly unamused SHIELD agent.

“Sorry,” he mouths.

One pair of handcuffs, an open van, and an unpleasant shove from the SHIELD agent later, you’re starting to think that maybe you should’ve murdered the Winter Soldier when you had the chance.

—

“You know, Barnes, I wasn’t expecting to have to detain your girlfriend.”

Agent Nunez sits quite primly in her chair, her hands folded on the table over a file and her head tilted as she looks you over. Bucky, the bastard, is leaning against the wall, arms crossed and face black as he glares at his colleague. Nunez taps her file.

“So. One casualty, two cases of second-degree burns, and thousands of dollars in damages. What do you have to say for yourself?”

You set your jaw. “I want my lawyer.”

“That’s not how this works,” Nunez says. “You didn’t get picked up by the police. This is SHIELD.”

Your jaw ticks. Oh, how _badly_ you want to snark back at her— _Oh, so SHIELD doesn’t play by the Constitution? I seeee_ —but you don’t. You can’t. Anything you say will be twisted, dissected, used against you.

They’ve already taken your comm device. Already taken your phone. Already taken your fingerprints, height, weight, eye color… A search more invasive than any leery airport guard’s. The only weapon you’d had after the assassination was the letter opener, and that had been abandoned in the warehouse when Bucky pulled you from the fire. They’d taken the thumb drive shoved in your bra, though. You pray they’ll make good use of it. In the meantime, though?

“I want my lawyer.”

“SHIELD isn’t interested in talking to your lawyer,” Nunez says. “We want to talk to you. And the longer it takes to get our answers, the less patient we’ll be.”

Bucky tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. Your eyes flit to him, but looking directly at him hurts. You look away.

“She’s the associate who helped on the Malinda Jackson case,” he says.

“I’m well aware,” Nunez says drily. “Invaluable help, I’m sure.” She eyes you again, her gaze lingering on your scorched sweatshirt, your bared shoulder.

You shift in your seat and tug at your restraints. You’d cover your shoulder, but you can’t move your hands more than a few inches from the table.

“At any rate, that doesn’t explain the bomb,” Nunez continues. “That kind of bomb is exclusive to factions that we do _not_ mix with, Barnes. Just because you got _your_ clearance back doesn’t mean you can drag the whole underworld up with you.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Shit. The whole underworld? The bomb had come from Kasie. Kasie, your friend, your mentor, your crewmate. If it’s traced back to her…

You hadn’t even _thought_ of that. Had Bucky? Is his whole claim that SHIELD didn’t have a problem with your crew a lie? Is all this a ploy to bring them down? Bring _you_ down?

Your eyes slide to the left. Why is he just standing there? Why did he let them take you? Did you never matter to him at all? You can’t look at him, not full-on. None of this makes sense. After everything you’ve shared, after everything you’ve said—not that you’ve said _everything_ , but so many looks and touches and kisses…

Your stomach churns. You can’t look at him.

Instead, you stare at Agent Nunez, at her probing dark eyes and her hands folded over her file and the sharp collar on her SHIELD uniform. She raises her eyebrows at you.

“Nothing?” she asks. She sighs when you keep silent and turns to Bucky. “Barnes?”

You glance at Bucky just in time to see him glancing at you. His lips are pressed so tight together there’s barely a hint of them left.

Bucky squares his shoulders. “Send for Commander Hill.”

—

Agent Nunez uncuffs you from the table and walks you straight into a holding cell. Small, with just a low, stiff cot and a toilet in the corner. Not even a sink. It’s dim, but at least it’s clean. As spotless as the rest of the facility. And there’s an entire door, with a round porthole window. Privacy, at least, in which to rage in.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Nunez says. Only her head is visible behind the mostly closed door. “Commander Hill is on her way.”

The quiet puff of the door closing is as final as any deafening slam.

You collapse onto the cot, cuffed hands dangling between your knees as your shoulders shake. You heave in deep breaths, desperate to keep your tears at bay. None of this is worthy of your tears. You’ve been in scrapes before. You’ve been nearly stabbed by the Winter Soldier, you’ve been nearly exposed by a woman you’d never met…

But your rationalizations rings hollow.

Bucky’s just a man. One man. A superhero, enhanced in myriad ways, but still just a man, in the end. Malinda Jackson is only one woman.

SHIELD?

SHIELD is something else. SHIELD is huge. Bigger than you, bigger than your crew, bigger than nearly the whole world. Certainly big enough to deal with aliens. And you… You’re just one woman too.

You cast your eyes around the room, but it’s impossible to discern where the camera is. Are? They wouldn’t leave you in here unsurveilled. That would just be stupid. And as much as you wish they were a bunch of idiots, you know better.

Well, if they’re smart, they’ll know you’ve been wanting to cry since Bucky looked at you in the alley with regret all over his awful face.

You lie down, bury your head in your arms, and let the tears flow.

—

The door grinds open. You stiffen. You’re still lying down, face concealed. Without a clock or watch or phone, you have no idea how long it’s been. But it can’t have been long. Your cheeks are still damp. Ten, fifteen minutes? Was Commander Hill so close all along?

The door eases shut. You hadn’t even heard anyone come in. Did they just take a look? A quick peek at the Winter Soldier’s girlfriend?

The cot dips by your stomach. A chill settles over you. A heavy hand settles on your hip, nudging you until you turn to look up at— _Bucky_. His face is paler than usual, his eyes wide as he stares at you. Your heart skips a beat as you blink the last tears from your eyes. He reaches to wipe your cheeks, but you sit up and scoot away before he can touch you any more.

“ _Why?_ ”

Bucky’s eyes widen. His hands slowly drop into his lap.

You don’t need to say any more. He knows _exactly_ what you’re asking.

“Because I thought this was the best way to keep you from getting actually arrested.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Your face—it was on all sorts of cameras. Not while—” He glances at the door. “Not while you were in the bathroom. But in the warehouse? They know it was you who set that bomb. There’s no escaping that.”

Your heart sinks. That’s true. Kasie and Luka had set things up so your foray into the office wing was undetectable, but the detour into the warehouse…

Damn it, that was _Kasie’s_ call. And now you’re suffering for it.

“That’s the trouble with spur-of-the-moment decisions,” you mutter. “Spur-of-the-moment screws-ups.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, “don’t beat yourself up too much.” He slants a smile your way. “I’ve done worse.”

“Oh?”

“I almost killed Captain America.”

A laugh bubbles in your chest, but it doesn’t quite make it to your lips. “That wasn’t you, Bucky.”

“Oh, I meant last week,” Bucky says. “Definitely almost killed Sam. He deserved it, though.”

“ _Seriously?_ ”

“Dead serious.” He catches your eye. “And I’m dead serious about why I did this, too. This isn’t about catching you.”

You roll your eyes. “As if you could.”

“Found you on that island, didn’t I?” Bucky’s smirk is all kinds of dangerous, and you look away, biting your tongue, as a flush pricks at your cheeks. “Besides, they knew I had you. If I’d let you go… It would’ve gone worse.”

“Right,” you scoff, but something inside you settles back in place. Maybe Bucky _had_ gotten you caught in SHIELD’s crossfires, but it hadn’t been to hurt you, or to catch you. It’s so he can help you. He’s not out to get you. Even if things are dark right now, even if you’re in the scariest place you’ve ever been, he’s still your Bucky. Still the little shit you lo— _adore_.

You reach out, handcuffs clinking, to grab his hands and fix your eyes on his.

“I believe you,” you tell him. His face softens, but you squeeze his hands harder, and he stills. “Now fix it.” You pull your hands away and try to cross your arms, but the cuffs won’t let you. You huff and drop them in your lap.

Bucky squeezes your knee. “I sent for Hill,” he says. “We just have to wait. I’m sure she’ll figure something out. She… knows of you.”

Undercurrents hopefully indiscernible to whoever’s listening in, but you hope he means that Hill is well aware of your crew. And, if you’re reading him right, she’s aware too of SHIELD’s hands-off policy towards you.

“Okay.” You nod. “Okay.”

He nods back. An understanding you pray follows through. If it doesn’t…

Bucky scoots closer and angles himself so his back is to the windowed door. “Listen, I need to tell you something.”

You rattle your cuffed hands on your lap. “I can’t exactly go anywhere.”

“It’s important.” His eyes flit between yours, but he doesn’t go on. You roll your eyes.

“What, you love me?” you scoff.

Bucky’s eyes widen. His mouth opens, then closes. “I mean, I—”

“For god’s sake, Bucky, I’m kidding,” you hiss.

Bucky’s face goes blank.

Something tightens in your throat. You sigh. A glance at the door; you shift your legs so no one can see as you slide your hands a little closer to him, palm up, and glance down meaningfully. Bucky’s brows pinch together as you wiggle your fingers. Carefully, surreptitiously, he lets his fingers brush against yours. It takes all your willpower not to grip his hand so tight it hurts, tight enough so you could pull him close, hold him—

But you can’t.

“Now’s not the time,” you say, gentler.

“Isn’t it, though?” Bucky sighs and runs his hand through his hair. There’s a noise outside, one that has you both flinching, staring at the door, holding your breath. Bucky’s hand drops to the knife at his side.

The sound fades. No shadows fall against the window. You’re still alone.

“I do,” Bucky says, still staring at the door.

Your heart leaps in your chest. Words crowd in your throat, too many for you to find a single thing to say.

“I do, angel.” There’s another scuff outside the door—footsteps, you think—and Bucky doesn’t hesitate to grab your hand properly this time. He looks back to you, finally, and every witticism, every word, dies on your tongue.

Every single feeling that’s burning in your chest is mirrored in his eyes. You blink, bite your lip, swallow.

“You love me?” you breathe.

“God yes,” Bucky answers, his voice thick. His metal hand cups your cheek; he presses his forehead to yours. “How could I not?”

“You know I’m a criminal, right?”

The smallest, most beautiful huff of a laugh escapes his lips. Okay, so maybe not _every_ witticism went away. But that’s the you that Bucky loves. You and your mouth.

“Not yet.”

Bucky stands up just as a shadow falls across the window. A key scrapes in the lock. You gaze up at him, your hand cold now that he’s feet away. Funny how easily he does that.

The door swings open, and a tall thin silhouette hovers in the doorway. When your eyes clear from the onslaught of bright hallway light, you at last make out Maria Hill.

“Barnes,” she says, “what the hell am I going to do with you?”

“Dunno,” Bucky says. He tilts his head in your direction. “I’m more interested in talking about what you’re gonna do with her.”

—

The same interrogation room, but this time Nick Fury’s right hand herself sits across from you. Your hands are back chained to the table. Unlike before, with Agent Nunez, Bucky is perched on the edge of table, twisted so he can study Hill’s file.

“So Agent Nunez tells me you were uncooperative,” Hill says to you.

“We were waiting for you,” Bucky says.

Hill rolls her eyes. “You’re not her lawyer, Barnes. Let her speak for herself.”

You open your mouth, close it. Your lawyer request is probably the wrong move right now, but… what on earth would be right? Maria Hill has the power to make you disappear. You stare at her with pinched brows, catching your tongue between your teeth.

“Or not,” Hill says eventually. She sighs. “Fine. I’ll talk it through, and maybe in the meantime you’ll decide to stop clamming up.” She sorts through the file. “I’m assuming you weren’t just there for a tour.”

You don’t signify that with a response.

“So these are the men from the warehouse,” Hill says. She tugs our the third page in her folder—three pictures, with names and one marked _deceased_.

You don’t react.

“All victims of your bomb. But also all armed, without permits, and records to boot.” Hill studies you with severe concentration, but your expression is bland as can be. “Presumably you wouldn’t have set off that bomb if they had been unarmed,” she continues. “But that’s not the most interesting part.”

Another page drawn out, and your heart stutters. The two men you’d encountered in the office wing, your target and the Rick fellow you’d rendered unconscious.

“Richard Cline here says he was attacked by someone matching your description in John Franklin’s office. And Franklin, according to his autopsy, had just had a heart attack. That can’t _possibly_ be a coincidence.”

The metallic tang of blood fills your mouth. Your eyes widen—you’ve bitten your tongue? You can’t remember the last time you’ve done something so _stupid_. So _telling_. It takes all of your willpower not to automatically spit the damn stuff all across the files, all across Maria Hill.

Instead, you swallow it. Swallow your pride. John Franklin’s office had more than a dead man inside it. You lick your teeth, hoping to wipe the blood away.

“Franklin had child porn,” you say. “Lots.”

“Excuse me?” Hill’s eyes widen. She rifles through her files. “I’ve got nothing on—”

“The drive I had,” you interrupt. “Nunez took it. Sent it off to be inspected. Dunno when that was. Hard to tell time around here, what with your blank walls.”

Bucky squeezes your shoulder. Hill’s eyes flit between you and settle on Bucky.

“When did you two meet again?” she asks.

You open your mouth, then close it. A glance at Bucky. He shrugs.

“Before the Malinda Jackson case,” he says curtly. “Why?”

Hill pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Yes, quite…” She scrolls along, but you’ve no idea what she’s looking at. “Right, of course— _you’re_ the reason that he was so distracted when Rex Carston was murdered.”

Your vision swims.

“Damn, Hill.” Bucky’s hand tightens on your shoulder. It’s the only thing keeping you from sliding under the table in shock. “Isn’t there something about leaving stuff at the opera?”

“It’s ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,’ and you were _not_ in Vegas.” Hill shakes her head. “Wow, Barnes. I have to hand it to you. That’s a long time to keep a secret like this.” Hill looks at you with something like—approval? “You’re part of Kasiemobi’s crew.”

A roaring in your ears. You lurch to your feet, the chair beneath you clattering to the floor. Kasie—your _crew_ —

“Calm down,” Hill says. She leans back in her chair and holds up empty hands placatingly. “You’ve got a blanket pass from us. Although… I have to ask how the hell you screwed up so badly today.”

Bucky bends to right your chair. You slide back into it, fingers trembling.

“I—” You swallow. A glance at Bucky, and you find some strength in his eyes. You look back to Maria Hill. Swallow again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hill nods. “Fair enough. I wouldn’t trust me either. And I imagine SHIELD probably had something to do with your spectacular mess.” She collects her file and tucks it under her arm. “I’m going to confirm that tip about the child porn, and then Bucky can escort you—wherever you need to go. However.” She narrows her eyes at you both. “Open communication about your whereabouts. Try it next time.”

Your mouth drops open, Bucky sputters, and Hill strides out the door, leaving you chained to the table and Bucky with you.

A beat, and then Bucky is laughing, gripping his sides, bent over, positively _cackling_ with amusement. You tug at the handcuffs, but neither they nor the table budges.

“I don’t—” a grunt as you try to tug free— “get—what’s so— _funny!_ ”

Bucky gasps, wipes his eye, catches his breath. But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he swoops down and clutches your face in his hands to pepper kisses across your cheeks and mouth until you’re screwing up your nose and squirming away.

“Bucky! Stop!”

He pulls back just enough for you to see the brilliant smile on his face. Despite the anxiety slicing through you, there’s a rush of warmth at that beautiful face.

_God never made a man this good_.

“Don’t you get it?” he says, his smile brighter than any sun. “You’re okay!”

So much delight is shining out of his eyes that you can’t help the smile spreading on your face. Bucky traces your lips with the rough pad of his thumb.

“You’re okay, angel,” he murmurs.

You rattle your handcuffs and raise your eyebrows. “You might want to rethink that pet name. Most angels don’t get cuffed to interrogation tables.”

“Most angels don’t wear Doc Martens either, yet here we are.”

You scuff your shoes against the floor and duck your chin. “I was starting to like these, actually. I know _you_ don’t like ‘em, but…”

“Actually, this look is starting to grow on me,” Bucky says. He nudges your face back up towards his. “But you know my favorite look is the one you’ll have just as soon as I can whisk you outta here and get you—”

Your heart skips a beat as Bucky breaks off, his lips twitching. He glances meaningfully at the door. His unspoken words hangs in the air, clear as day, clear as the light in his dark blue eyes.

_Home, in bed, with me._

You turn your head and kiss his metal palm, then the other.

“I like that look too.”

—

“Somehow, Hill always manages to remind me about paperwork.”

Bucky’s grumping has you giggling as he drags you up a flight of stairs to his hotel room, your Doc Martens thumping louder on their stairs than Bucky’s steel-toed boots, bless. With him, here, so close to being finally and properly alone, the stress from the longest day of your life is starting to unwind.

“She does, doesn’t she?” you tease.

Steps from the stairwell to his door, the slide of a key into the lock, and then you’re inside. Bucky triple locks the door—regular lock, deadbolt, chain lock—with brisk precision, and then you pounce.

You fist your fingers in his hair and tug his face down to yours so you can _finally_ capture his lips. He moans into your mouth, his hands squeezing your waist without a moment’s hesitation. Every single bit of stress melts away under his touch, his lips, the feel of that beautiful body pressed tight against yours. You tug a hand free from Bucky’s hair and start on the buckles of his holsters, of his uniform. They fall easily, as they should. It’s criminal to keep this man covered for a second longer than he needs to be.

Bucky slips his hands up under your cropped sweater and pushes it up your arms, over your head. You toss it aside and fall to your knees to unbuckle the holster on his thigh, your hands dancing dangerously close to the growing bulge in his pants.

“God, fuck me sideways,” he mumbles, his hand on your hair and the other against the door. You raise an eyebrow. His knife falls to the floor.

“If you like,” you say. “I was kinda hoping to fuck you right here, but—”

Bucky tugs you straight back into his arms. He catches you around the waist, settling you at arm’s length, breathing heavily. You reach for him, frowning, but he grabs your hands and holds them tight. His eyes bore into yours as his breathing steadies. The seconds stretch by, long and agonizing when all you want to do is touch him, but he’s just looking, watching, drinking you in.

It’s not enough.

“What’s wrong?” you demand.

“Wrong?” Bucky shakes his head, gives a little huff. “I… Nothing’s wrong. Except I said something, earlier. And you haven’t said it back.”

You blink.

“Oh,” you say. You tug your hands free from his and step closer, close enough so your chest brushes his. You cradle his face in your hands, the scruff on his cheeks a tingle against your palms. Bucky grips your hips, holding you close against him. His eyes burn bright, bright as the sun, bright as the moon, bright as every single star in the universe. They’re all burning in your chest, in your heart.

“I love you, Bucky,” you tell him. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Only one kiss right now, because when have you ever settled for just three words? “I love you so much I think it should be illegal. I love your face, I love your body, I love your brain, I love your mind, your smile—”

Bucky grins at that. You can’t help but smile back.

“I love your _soul_ ,” you tell him.

His grin softens into something like awe, those plush lips of his just barely parted.

You trace the shape of his face, his cheekbones, his jaw, his mouth. Your whole body is full of something so warm, so _tender_ , that you never would have been able to name it before. Before him. “You’re beautiful to me. In every way.”

“I guess it takes an killer to love a killer,” he says, lips twitching.

You shake your head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

“Nah. It just worked out that way. For us.”

“I don’t think someone who isn’t in our line of work would love that part of me _quite_ as much as you do, though,” Bucky says, grinning again. He starts walking backwards, not quite slow enough to keep you from stumbling.

“Well, they wouldn’t know just how brilliant you are,” you deadpan. “I, on the other hand, have an _intimate_ understanding of just how good you are at your job.”

“When I’m not being distracted, you mean,” he teases, and you can’t help but laugh.

Bucky lowers his hands to your thighs and hikes you up, looping your legs around his waist as you wind your arms around his neck.

“Well,” he says, dropping a kiss on the tip of your nose, “now that’s settled, where were we?”

You tilt your head, and then Bucky grinds his hips up, his clothed cock driving straight against your core.

“Fuck!” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. The warmth in your chest boils over, needy, desperate, sudden, _hot._

“There we go,” he murmurs, eyes all but black. He slips his left hand under your sweater and claims your lips.

You let your legs fall to the floor. Bucky’s hand under your ass holds you up as he tastes you, drinking you in as you devour him back.

His metal hand kneads your breast, and you gasp into his eager mouth. Fire sparks along your spine, to your fingers, your toes, to that pulsing bundle of nerves between your legs as he takes you apart with only a single hand on your breast and his lips on yours. You’re a mess before his other hand dips into your leggings, pushing them and your panties down over your hips, baring your hips, your legs… You toe off the Doc Martens, your socks tugging free easily along with them as you work your leggings the rest of the way off until you’re just in a bra before him.

You break away from the kiss, breathing heavily. Bucky’s metal hand is still at your breast, the other is cupping your bare ass—and it feels so _delicious_ to have his hands on you—but there’s something wrong.

“Bucky,” you whisper. “Bucky, why are you wearing so many _clothes?_ ”

“Well—” he kisses you again, squeezes your ass— “because the nice thing about your cute little outfit today was how _little_ was actually involved.” His hand slides lower, lifting you onto your tiptoes, teasing—

“ _Oh!_ ” You clutch desperately at his shoulders, still covered with that stiff uniform. “Fu— _Bucky_ , c’mon,” you whine. You tug at his collar; the scruff on his jaw burns your fingers, but he doesn’t relent. He curls his fingers tighter between your legs until your knees buckle and your whole world is a haze. “Fuck!”

The darkest chuckle as Bucky hefts you up, back against the wall and his leg slotted between yours, his thick pants rough against the soft skin of your thighs and his arm curled around your waist.

“Usually I have to stuff your mouth to get you at a loss for words,” he muses. His metal hand tugs at your bra strap; it snaps back against your skin. The sensation shoots straight between your legs. You suck in a breath and try to focus on Bucky’s gleaming grin, Bucky’s glinting eyes. “I dunno, babe, I’m _liking_ this.”

“Y-you _like_ that I can’t actually get my hands on you?”

“I mean, it’s kinda nice having you like this. All soft and pretty.”

“But with just a few moments of work,” you murmur, hands seeking out his fly, “you could be all soft and pretty too.” Zipper down, you curl your hand between your bodies and grip his hardening cock. His low groan is music to your ears. “Well, _hard_ and pretty.”

You twist your hand, thumb circling his tip, and he _hisses_.

“You’re fucking nuts if you think doing that is gonna make me want to put in a drop of effort.”

You tsk and grind down on his thigh still propping you up.

“The things I suffer for you,” you tease. You wriggle until Bucky lets you drop to the floor. You sink to your knees and bat your eyelashes at him, sitting demurely on your heels. You trace a finger along the seam of your lips. Bucky reaches for his cock, but you shake your head.

“No no,” you tell him.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Don’t be a tease, angel.”

“Me?” You suck your finger into your mouth. A lewd pop as you pull it free. “A tease?” You trace your hand down your neck, past your collarbone, straight down to circle a pebbled nipple, straining against the soft cup of your bra. You don’t bother containing your shudder, your whimper. “Such an _unfounded_ allegation.”

Bucky’s growl is, you decide, an altogether fair reaction.

“Why don’t you take that pretty bra off?” he says.

“I suppose I could.” You slide the straps down your shoulders and reach back to unhook it, the motion thrusting your chest forward for Bucky’s eager eyes. One slight shimmy, and you’re fully bare for him, curves and marks and all.

“Fuck, you’re such a fucking sight,” he groans.

“Already? But I haven’t even got your cock in my mouth yet.”

You lean forward, a hand on his thick thigh, but he puts a finger on your forehead before you can tug his cock free.

“Let’s change things up a bit,” he purrs. He tugs you up, gathers you in his arms, and carries you over to the bed. His uniform is rough against your skin, but there’s a thrill in it. Here you are, bare, vulnerable, wide open straight down to your soul, tossed on the bed like a sack of potatoes, and then there’s Bucky.

You’ve never seen him quite so much like the Winter Soldier in the bedroom. All that black material straining over his chest, his tapered waist, his thick arms, the left bared for your enjoyment. He looks so damn _powerful_ as he stands over you. Just the sight of him staring down at you with blackened eyes and that _uniform_ sends a rush of heat to your core.

“ _Bucky_ ,” you moan.

He grins. “Who’s complaining now?”

“You will be, if I decide I’m bored of not having your hands on me.”

“Aw, angel, don’t be like that.” Bucky crawls across the giant bed, caging you in. You press your thighs together, not quite so lost as to reach for him. Instead, you let your fingers dance along your belly, the light sensation going straight to where you crave him most.

“No need for that,” he murmurs. He settles between your legs, spreads them wantonly wide to make room for his head, his shoulders. “Time to make good use of _my_ mouth.”

Bucky dives right in. He licks a solid stripe up along your cunt, his scruff burning your thighs but you couldn’t care less. Your legs seize up, tightening around his head as your hands fly to your breasts and a gasp tumbles from your lips. When his mouth latches onto your clit, your cry is barely human.

He eats you out with more passion than usual. His tongue draws shapes against your clit, letters and numbers in more language than you know. All the while, his finger drums against your thigh, and only after the fourth repetition do you realize—it’s Morse code.

Because of course it is.

A laugh bubbles out of you.

“I love you, I love you, I love—oh fuck—I love you,” you chant, breath catching as he teases your rim.

“That okay?” he murmurs.

“Oh—fuck me, yes, _yes!_ ”

A slow push, and his finger is in your ass. It’s—it’s _different_ , it’s dark and heady and there’s nothing stopping you from bucking your hips into his eager mouth, chasing every ounce of pleasure—of _love_ —that he can give.

And oh, he _gives._ His tongue on your clit, his finger moving slow and deep, sucking and thrusting and holding you down with his free hand so there’s no escaping the oncoming precipice.

You’re gone far sooner than ever before, cunt spasming against nothing until Bucky eases two fingers in, gentle. He hums, the vibrations prompting a fresh shudder as you collapse against the mattress, every bone in your body somewhere else. You can’t see a damn thing. Only the memory of Bucky, telling you he loves you, and then it all just fades away.

Minutes pass before you come back to yourself. You blink away the stupor. Bucky sits on his haunches, sucking his fingers clean. His eyes are dark and hungry yet so damn _soft_ as he looks down at you spread wide just for him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs. He lays down alongside you, cups your damp face in his warm hand. “I love you.”

You open your arms to him, and he settles with his ear over your heart and his hand splayed on your belly. You can feel dampness on his beard, and your lips curl into a smile.

“I love you too.” You kiss his forehead and breathe him in. It’s him, all right. It’s him, and he’s home.

How nice to be home. It’s been a long day. An uncomfortable bus ride to the Jelly Belly factory, an assassination, a chase, an explosion. Hours in SHIELD custody, not one but two interrogations, and the first declaration of love you’ve ever received—or given.

Yes, a long day.

Bucky lets you hold him, the silence sweet and comfortable. He’s still in uniform, the straps and buckles rough against your bare skin. You’re too tired to do anything about it. Bucky’s face is tilted up so he can look at you every now and then, but you’re nodding off. The world goes hazy around you. Bucky eases himself out of your arms. You shift, a little whine building in the back of your throat until he shushes you.

“Rest, love,” he whispers. A clink, a thud, some zips, and then he slides in beside you, his body bare and warm and perfect. With a click, the room goes dark.

You tuck your face against his shoulder. “Love you,” you mumble.

Bucky presses a kiss to your hair.

He’s here. You’re together, and you’re home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think :3


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